


I took my power in my hand

by zinjadu



Series: Wed to Blight [52]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Angst, Breaking and Entering, F/M, Frenemies, Gen, Political Alliances, Pre-Dragon Age: Origins Quest - The Landsmeet, Women In Power
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-17
Updated: 2019-11-17
Packaged: 2021-01-31 07:21:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21442378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zinjadu/pseuds/zinjadu
Summary: The Landsmeet approaches, and Caitwyn Tabris knows that if Alistair is not crowned his life could be in danger.  She just needs to talk to the queen where no one can overhear either of them.   It now all hinges on getting Anora Theirin to agree to terms.Note:We are so close to the end guys!  Some more Landsmeet fics, and then we're off to the Battle of Denerim.  Thank you, thank you, thank you, a million thank yous to everyone who has followed Caitwyn on her journey this far.  It means a lot.  <3
Relationships: Alistair/Female Tabris (Dragon Age), Alistair/Female Warden (Dragon Age), Alistair/Tabris (Dragon Age), Alistair/Warden (Dragon Age), Anora Mac Tir & Warden, Anora Mac Tir/Cailan Theirin
Series: Wed to Blight [52]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/879681
Comments: 8
Kudos: 11





	I took my power in my hand

The delicate curtains fluttered in the night breeze that came in through the open window. 

Caitwyn held the cloth firmly to the maid’s mouth and nose, and she was unconscious before she even realized what was going on. Folding up the drugged cloth, Caitwyn then tucked it into one of her many pockets with a mental note to thank Zevran for the concoction. She had returned to form for this little venture: grey-black leggings and soft leather boots, along with a slim-fitting tunic and hood. A small scarf could easily be tugged up to cover the lower half of her face, but she wanted her mark to know who she was this time.

On the great bed, the queen of Ferelden slept peacefully. 

Caitwyn took her time. The maid, Erlina, would not wake for a good many hours. She did not have to rush through this. This was something she could not afford to go wrong.

The fire in the hearth was banked low, but the embers were good enough to kindle a thin stick of wood. After lighting a few candles, she tossed the stick on the fire. She hefted a chair and placed it at the end of the bed so she would be in full and easy view. Then she repositioned a small, circular wooden table. Last, and certainly not least, she removed the bottle of wine, purloined from one of the several estates she had robbed for Slim, from her small carry-bag and set it on the table as well.

One did not bring wine to an antagonistic chat. She hoped the queen would have sense enough to read the situation before screaming and bringing every guard in Eamon’s estate running.

Not to mention the arl.

This was a risk, but one she was compelled to take.

With one last critical examination of her set up, Caitwyn decided that this would have to be good enough. She stood between the chair and the end of the bed and shook the queen’s foot. Anora shifted, snorted, and sat up with a veneer of panic in her blue eyes.

Caitwyn had already seated herself, and held her hands up. “Don’t worry, I’m just here to talk.”

“We have had ample opportunity to speak, have we not?” The corner’s of the queen’s eyes pinched with annoyance, and her line of her mouth went hard. “Where is Erlina? What have you done to her? She would not have allowed you to do all this.” The queen waved at Caitwyn’s furniture rearrangement with airy dismissiveness.

“She’s well, and still here.” Caitwyn pointed. “Just unconscious. She might have a headache tomorrow, but don’t take it out on her.”

“Oh, I assure you, I will not.” Blankets were thrown back, and the queen knelt on the floor by her maid and cupped a hand around the elven woman’s mouth. She glared up at Caitwyn. “It is well for you that she breathes,  _ Warden _ .”

“I don’t murder people in the night, your Majesty,” Caitwyn said evenly. The queen would have to do better than that to scare her. “As for opportunity to speak, we have not been able to speak  _ freely _ . Eamon has eyes everywhere.”

Anora stood, and even in flimsy nightgown she was every inch the queen she claimed to be. Back straight, shoulders held rigid, chin high and looking down her nose at her inferiors. “Then I credit you for not trusting Eamon. He has his own agenda.”

“Oh,” Caitwyn breathed sharply through her nose, but kept her face blank otherwise. “I am well aware of what Eamon wants. I aim to disappoint him, and that’s what I wanted to talk to you about. I even brought wine. That’s what you nobs do, right? You talk in dark rooms and drink wine and decide things for everyone else. I wanted to see what it was like.”

She met that blue-flame gaze and produced a wry smirk, tilting her head just so to catch the light of the fire in her eyes. 

It took a few moments for the queen to realize that Caitwyn was not about to move a chair for her, so she gathered her nightgown in her fists and took two pointed strides to the end of the bed. She sat lightly, hands in her lap, as if she were in the great hall upon her throne. Eyeing the bottle of wine, she said, “I hope you do not take insult in that I will decline the wine. You have proven yourself capable with poisons already.”

Caitwyn shrugged as if it did not matter one way or another. Indeed, it did not, but it did let her learn a little more about the woman across from her. She uncorked the wine and poured herself a glass. It was fruity with a hint of bitterness from the skin of the grapes, but drier than the wine the Dalish had offered. One sip, nothing more, and she set it back down.

“So, you wished to speak. Very well,  _ speak _ , Warden, and I will generously forget this intrusion.”

“Caitwyn,” she said softly.

“I beg pardon?”

“Name’s  _ Caitwyn _ . Friends and family call me Cait, but I suppose we’ll stick to Caitwyn between us. Don’t see you and me being on friendly terms, but I’d like us to be at least cordial.”

“After breaking into my rooms and poisoning my maid, you expect me to be cordial? Have I not answered every question you put to me already? Have I not aided you? What more would you have of me,  _ Warden _ ?” 

Caitwyn traced her forefinger around the rim of the wine glass, making it sing its little tune. Oh yes, Anora Theirin was a woman of fire. Of action and  _ will _ . She could be pushed too far, but she was not without her levers.

“Alistair. I would have Alistair.” She raised her eyes and met Anora’s. The bald statement had hit the mark. Anora’s lips parted in a puff of shock and her hand pressed to her chest, right over her heart. “Eamon’s been making noise that he’s Maric’s bastard. We both know it’s true. There’s enough doubt to sweep it away, _but_,” she tapped at the glass, and it rang on a strained, jarring note, near to breaking, “you might have had the thought that your throne would be a good deal more secure without even a suspected bastard out there. I want him to walk away from the Landsmeet with his head on his shoulders, and your word I’ll not find a knife in the dark coming for him. Believe me when I say, _I_ would take that amiss.”

There was no heat in her voice, only the cold, implacable promise of retribution. Ice in her veins, ice in her soul. What was hers was  _ hers _ , and she would not let it be taken from her. Not ever again.

“I had thought that might be the case for all that you maintain your distance from him,” Anora said, speaking slowly as if picking her words carefully. “I do not know Alistair well, but his affection for you is plain.” A shadow deeper than the night passed over the queen’s face. “Cailan was the same.”

Caitwyn offered the queen the sipped at wine. She took it and drank deeply. There was a time for everything, and as the queen drank, Caitwyn asked, “You loved him very much, didn’t you?”

Anora nearly choked on the wine, but with only a little sputtering saved herself from an ignoble end. Which was good. It was not part of Caitwyn’s plan that the queen die at all. No, for this to work, Anora Theirin needed to live a long, long life.

“That is an impertinent question.”

“But relevant.”

The wine glass was empty, and Anora set it on the table so forcefully Caitwyn thought it might shatter. The other woman glowered at a point past Catiwyn’s shoulder, the banked fire’s reflection leaping in blue eyes. Then the tension drained from her face, and weary, heartsick lines took their place. Anora dropped her forehead into her hand and sighed. 

“Cailan pursued me all my life. While we had been all but promised to each other while in swaddling clothes, I learned early that men who take their women for granted often seek comfort  _ elsewhere _ . I made him work for my hand, and I gave him nothing for free. And he, he could be so sweet, so kind. So  _ earnest _ . We were married not a month after Maric left on his voyage, and for a time it had been like a story out of a book.” Caitwyn poured another glass of wine, and Anora held it in her hand neglectfully. Then the queen’s face darkened once more, and her features pinched as if she were in pain. 

“When the years went by and I had not been able to perform my one,  _ true _ duty, things became. Strained. He no longer sought my bed, though I knew he was not without company.” Caitwyn’s gaze flickered to the elven woman on the floor, and though Anora shook her head, he lips pressed into a thin line. “Not Erlina, he would not be so cruel as that. But. There are things I do not have to tell you, I am sure.”

“No,” Caitwyn said flatly.  _ Glass cuts into her hands as he pulls her toward himself—the arl’s son runs a finger up her arm like he has every right— _ she blinked and forced the memories away. That was not all of her, not anymore. And yet, she fixed Anora with a level gaze. ”You don’t. There’s not a girl or woman in the Alienage who you wouldn’t have to tell.”

Anora’s lips twisted in a bitter grimace of a smile. “I would like to promise you that would change, but I am not so foolish as that. I’m sure Cailan would have thought it horrific, if he gave it a thought. If he had not been so charming as to not have to resort to force. But we both know better don’t we, Caitwyn? What a man wants, he finds some way to have. Comfort instead of a fruitless marriage bed. His needs looked to, if nothing else.” 

She drained the wine quickly this time, and nudged the glass away from her. Perfectly manicured hands curled into claws on the plush bedding. “The worst part, the  _ worst _ part. He could not even sire a bastard, did you know? All these years I have endured pity for my barren womb, but I do not think the fault was within  _ me _ . And yet.” Her voice softened and her gaze drifted into the middle distance. “I would do anything to have him back.”

The raw honesty was the last thing Caitwyn had expected to see from the normally composed woman, and yet. It rang true. In the glassiness of her eyes, in how she half turned away, in how her shoulders rounded ever so slightly forward, curling around a phantom pain she let few see. She closed her eyes and let out one shuddering breath before fixing a spark-blue stare on Caitwyn. Caitwyn met the gaze calmly. There was nothing here for her to run from.

“Does that answer your question,  _ Warden _ ? For all his faults, I loved him. I love him still.”

“Then,” Caitwyn said ponderously as though she, too, were relinquishing something, “would you let me keep the man I love?” Anora already knew the truth, but let her think Caitwyn ventured as much as the queen. In this game, she had everything yet to lose. Anora had already lost.

Pink lips thinned before a sigh escaped them. “Theirin men are nothing but trouble, but I promise you that should you support my bid for the throne that Alistair will not come to harm.”

“Alistair’s no Theirin.” The words were clipped, harsher than Caitwyn intended, but they served her purpose for all that they were true. Let the queen have a small victory. Her mouth quirked into a smirk. Caitwyn breathed out sharply through her nose and waved the apparent lapse away. “Sorry, that just slipped out. You have my thanks, and I swear no one will use him to challenge you. Not a one of us wants that, Alistair least of all.”

“That I certainly believe. Though, tell me something Caitwyn. Since you had such a personal answer from me, why him? He is—”

“Gentle,” she answered without preamble. She allowed herself a soft smile, to let the other woman see what might endear. “And he didn’t give up either, when others might have.”

“Ah, I see.” And Caitwyn thought she just might. The queen had lived in a world of nobles and power, but she missed little that others might dismiss. Caitwyn stood and offered a half bow.

“With your leave?”

“Yes, you may go, Warden Tabris.”

Caitwyn hurriedly set the room back to rights, though she left the wine and the two glasses. Anora watched with an impassive expression, but as Caitwyn perched on the inner sill of the window, she huffed with surprise. “I should have known.”

Tossing a grin over her shoulder, Caitwyn regarded the queen and ventured another slight risk. After all, the trick was to gain the greater parity of trust by extending little truths that seemed to condemn. “Only because I’ve stolen from here before. Though this time, I think Eamon’s going to notice.”

The queen laughed, quietly, but there was no mirth in her eyes. “Then I wish you well of your current prize.” Caitwyn mimed tugging at a forelock and then slipped out the window only hear a whispered, “May you have more joy of yours than I did of mine.”

As she scaled the wall to another window, she tried not to look at those words too closely, to not feel the creak of ice that crept around her heart


End file.
